Two Fathoms Deep
by KelleBelle
Summary: The Marauders are in their second year at Hogwarts when Sirius, James, and Peter begin to grow suspicious of Remus's odd disappearances. The four friends struggle with mystery, deception, and broken barriers as the depth of their friendship is put to the
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Sirius lay in bed, sucking pensively on a mint, as was his habit whenever he couldn't sleep. James once teased him that he did it so he'd always be ready for a snog, but in actuality Sirius found that the frosty taste helped him clear his mind whenever he was feeling particuarly agitated or confused. Tonight, after his tense conversation with Remus, he felt an unsettling combination of the two.

Rolling the mint between his teeth and over his tongue, Sirius quietly sat up and pulled back the curtains on his four-poster bed. His bed was adjacent to a window and from where he lay his view was completely unobstructed. In the darkness of Gryffindor tower he gave a feeble half-smile, remembering how he had laid claim on this bed just a little over a year ago. Sirius' habit of tracing the constellations helped pacify his occasionally muddled thoughts, and found that the tranquil round dormitory currently bathed in an ethereal glow from the full moon was perfectly suited to his inclination.

It wasn't the first time that Sirius had a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach as Remus explained away his odd disappearances. Since he had always felt Remus was extremely trustworthy, definitely the least likely of the marauders to jokingly pull a prank on him when his back was turned, Sirius found the thought of him lying more disturbing than he otherwise might. Even though he and James were best mates, and could practically read each other's minds, it was Remus who he felt inexplicably drawn to. It might have been his quieter demeanor, or adorably lopsided grin whenever Sirius fondly called him "mate," but Sirius found him and his aura of mystery incredibly compelling. Except, of course, for times like these when Remus' mysteriousness simply annoyed him and kept him up at night.

If he was honest with himself, Sirius would admit that every time he saw Remus' crooked grin he wanted to reach out and hold his delicate hand, for no real reason except that he felt he ought to; and, if someday he acted on that impulse, he thought he would find that Remus' hand in his would feel rather nice. While Sirius undeniably felt this subtle intimacy with Remus, his shy friend was still more or less a puzzle to him. Usually that only encouraged him to find out what Remus was hiding beneath all those layers of stoic intellect and clever witticisms. Usually Sirius found his mysterious friend all the more likable because he just _knew_ there was much more beneath the surface. Usually Sirius would be furious if he knew that a friend was purposefully deceiving him, especially a friend like Remus who was somehow more than just that—but instead, he merely felt that he was missing something. And this was _unusual_ for Sirius, who had never before had the peculiar impression that he was blind to what was standing right in front of him.

After quietly crunching the remainder of the nearly-dissolved mint between his teeth, Sirius sighed softly and tried to focus on _why_ he felt so strongly that Remus was lying to him about his odd absences. Usually they accepted Remus' excuses—visiting his sick relatives, attending a great uncle's funeral—without hesitation. But as Sirius began to know Remus better, he intrinsically _felt _that something wasn't entirely right with his friend. Perplexed, Sirius absently sought out the Dog Star—his namesake—and let his mind wander back to the evening's revelations.

Before he lost himself entirely to his reverie, he brushed aside a faintly chilling thought. He didn't know whether it was more comforting or more distressing that his suspicions had been confirmed. He wasn't the only one to have noticed this anomaly about their friend Remus—_his_ Remus.

For the first time in his life, Sirius felt no urge to gloat or pride himself at having been vindicated. Instead, his chest had a painful hollowness that echoed his equally palpable feeling of being betrayed by Remus' deception.

----------

"Er--"

James looked up from his half-finished transfiguration homework and eyed Remus warily. He was looking pale and nervous, but nonetheless standing resolutely in front of the table in the library where he, Sirius, and Peter had gathered to work on their respective assignments. James immediately understood what his defensive posture meant-- what it always meant when Remus excused himself from studying with his fellow marauders, only to come back right before dinner to hurriedly speak with them all.

"Is it your mum again?" Peter asked, barely glancing up from James' transfiguration essay, which he was carefully summarizing on his own parchment.

James blinked at Peter; so, it seemed he wasn't the only one who thought Remus' excuses predictable, either.

"Well--" Remus' voice seemed to falter, as it always did before he rushed on to explain that he had to travel home to care for his ailing mother, or attend a distant relative's funeral. Before now James, Sirius, and Peter had interpreted his hesitation as concern on behalf of his various family members; presently, James couldn't help thinking that his slightly awkward uncertainty was a sign of something entirely different.

"No, no, it's alright, you don't have to _explain_ yourself to us," Sirius bit out caustically, putting emphasis in all the right places to show that he wouldn't believe a word of any explanations Remus may have to offer them. "We're only your _best friends_, you know, we don't require any explanations. Just go on, we'll see you around in a bit, right? _As usual?_"

Remus looked crestfallen and, if James wasn't mistaken, vaguely alarmed. Remus was far from thick, and anyone would have been able to detect the strong undercurrents of suspicion and hurt that Sirius' comments clearly carried. James looked up at Remus somewhat apologetically but said nothing in his defense. Remus gave an almost imperceptible sigh, shook his head as if defeated, and slowly turned around and walked away.

James watched his friend's retreat and turned to look out the window, not quite ready to meet the intense gaze he could feel Sirius giving him. The last vestiges of daylight were streaming through the glass and James could see the lake glistening as the brightly glowing orb began its slow descent into the horizon. The scene was similar, and yet so different, from the times before when Remus had come to say goodbye prior to one of his brief sojourns home. In the past they all looked at him sympathetically and wished him, his ailing mother, and his rapidly depleting family well. Recently they had begun to exchange odd looks, but then each would ignore the niggling sensation that something was not quite right and refrained from showing Remus any openly quizzical expressions. And now, after looking at Remus' guarded eyes and hearing his equally guarded words, James felt sure that Remus had been fooling him, Sirius, and Peter all along.

Turning away from the sunset, James finally turned and locked eyes with Sirius' heavy stare.

"Remus is lying," Sirius stated aggressively, as if daring James or Peter to argue with him. "I know he is, and I think he has been all year." A pause. "Damn it, I just realized, all of last year, too."

James, at hearing his own thoughts voiced aloud, quickly agreed. "I know he is, Sirius. And after what you just said to him, _he_ knows we know it, too."

"I couldn't help it," said Sirius, his voice now laced with anger and mounting frustration. "I just can't stand how he can look us all in the eye and--"

"I _know_, Sirius," James replied solemnly. "I don't understand it, either."

"Yeah," Peter chimed in, momentarily distracted from copying James' homework. "The question is, though—what's he hiding? And why?"

They all sat silently and mulled this over. What could Remus possibly have to hide from them? They had all been best mates since first year and officially, at least officially amongst themselves, marauders since the beginning of this one. They'd pulled some pretty impressive pranks together (albeit Remus had been more reluctant than he, Sirius, or Peter had been) and all had shared secrets among his fellow marauders. What, then, did Remus feel he couldn't tell them?

Sirius suddenly pushed his parchment to the side and shoved his quill rather forcefully back into his bag. "You know," he said in a voice of forced calm, "I think it's time we found out. I'm worried about him—why does he just up and disappear every so often? It doesn't make _sense_, and we know the reasons he's been giving us are codswallop."

Peter snickered at hearing Sirius so deadly serious and saying "codswallop" in such a McGonagall-ish tone of voice. A glare from Sirius quickly turned Peter's snickers into a hacking cough, causing Madam Pince to vigorously shush them from a bookshelf not far from their table.

"Right then," said James, leaning in nearer towards the center of their table conspiratorially and speaking in a much softer tone of voice, "is it me or does it almost seem like he disappears on schedule?"

"On schedule for what? Missing transfiguration exams?" Peter said, wrinkling his nose and glancing back at his homework gloomily.

"Don't be thick," said Sirius, looking exasperatedly at Peter. "Remus doesn't need to skive off classes; he always has his work done before any of us and could pass the transfiguration exam tomorrow easily."

"Yeah, I suppose you're right," mumbled Peter, slightly embarrassed as he undoubtedly thought of his own grim transfiguration marks.

"I think you're on to something, though," continued Sirius, looking earnestly at James. "It seems like he always leaves after a certain interval of time."

"You know," said Peter thoughtfully, "my mum always goes twice a month to visit her uncle in St. Mungo's. He got a funny memory charm placed on him before I was born, and ever since he's been convinced that he's a famous American Quodpot player. The Healers can't do anything for him, but keep him comfortable and make sure he doesn't have a fit or anything when he imagines that a quod's exploded and his broomstick's on fire. Do you think he has a relative like that?"

James was tempted to ask Peter what the American sport "Quodpot" was, and if it was anything like Quidditch, but he quickly shook himself of that distraction. He and Sirius contemplated Peter's speculation for a few moments before Sirius spoke up.

"No, I don't think that can be it…" he mused quietly.

"I agree," said James, knowing that he and Sirius were both thinking along the same lines. "He's told us before that his mum's ill, or that some other relative of his is either on the brink of death or dead already; he'd have just told us if he regularly visited someone in St. Mungo's."

"Actually, it would have been rather clever of him if he had. Much less suspicious," muttered Sirius, obviously resentful that Remus would lie to them and then have the audacity to do a rather shoddy job of it.

"Hmmm," hummed Peter noncommittally, picking up his quill and pulling his parchment closer to him while peering back over to James's.

James exchanged a dark look with Sirius, and both knew that the other was having the exact same thought; Merlin's beard, they'd find out what their friend was trying so hard to hide from them, or die trying. Not that, of course, the latter was likely…or, James mused to himself, at least not very.

----------

Remus inwardly cringed at Sirius' harsh words, but found that he could say nothing in his own defense. They were the best—and first—friends Remus had ever had, and he had been lying to them all along. As much as he hated to lie to them—especially Sirius—he knew he had to. Finding the accusing silence following Sirius' words too much to bear, he let out the breath he had been holding and slowly turned around and walked away. He didn't have time to deal with this right now; soon it would be moonrise.

Making his exit from the library, Remus pushed his dirty-blonde hair out of his face with one of his clammy hands. His heart was racing and his head throbbed. The effects of the full moon were never pleasant for a werewolf; the time leading up to moonrise and the time following the transformation were always draining. Of course, that was nothing compared to the transformation itself. There were no words to describe that kind of pain, nor the pain of facing it alone.

To his horror, Remus found that he was holding back tears as he continued toward the entrance hall; he couldn't even remember the last time he had cried. Sirius' words had mocked his own bitter feelings on his lycanthropy. He had long ago ceased asking the question _why_. It wasn't a question he could ever answer; there were no explanations, no reasons he could give either himself or his friends.

Scrubbing at his face angrily as he approached the doors to the entrance hall, Remus' spiraling thoughts were interrupted when he heard tentative footsteps behind him. Thinking it might be one of his friends coming after him to demand answers, Remus whirled around and tried to put an indifferent expression on his face. However, the mask faded and his face instead registered mild shock. It surprised him to discover the footsteps belonged to Severus Snape, a Slytherin second year who seemed to greatly annoy Sirius and James. Remus had never paid him much attention, as none of the snarky comments were ever directed towards him. He found that it was much easier to simply concentrate on his schoolwork rather than risk inviting the scorn of his friends were he to try and stop their verbal sparring. He was new enough to friendship that he always trod softly around matters of conflict. Remus would never willingly endanger his close relationship with Sirius, James, and Peter, even if Gryffindor lost obscene amounts of House Points as a result of futile confrontations with the Slytherin.

Remus waited for Snape to say something; when he didn't, Remus realized that Snape's silent stare was probably due to his sickly appearance and shining eyes.

"I'm all right," said Remus preemptively, realizing that he didn't have much time until he had to be safely ensconced in the Shrieking Shack.

"I wasn't going to ask," said Snape carefully, seemingly apprehensive that James or Sirius would jump out at any moment and banish him to the Forbidden Forest. "But the hospital wing is that way," Snape indicated with a vague gesture.

"I know. I'm not heading there," said Remus, turning away from Snape and making for the exit.

"Are you sure you--" Snape's question was cut-off mid-sentence as a group of Slytherins made their way up from the staircase that led to the dungeons. Snape looked warily at them, and turned back to face Remus with a sneer instead. "I would reconsider that, if I were you," he continued brusquely, giving Remus one last sweeping gaze before hurrying away.

Remus knew he looked very ill, but as there was nothing he could do about it he quickly put the strange encounter with Snape out of his mind. He pushed open the double oak doors to the entrance hall and broke into a jog, his head and heart pounding laboriously.

Remus' blood ran hot through his veins, creating a fine sheen of sweat that covered his skin. The muscles in his arms and legs were quivering, pulling taut not from his run but from lunar influence. Remus knew he had no more control over what was happening to his body and mind than the ocean had over its tide. He brushed aside his familiar disconcerting thoughts, instead concentrating on keeping his breathing as even as he could while racing against the setting sun. The Whomping Willow loomed ominously in the distance, growing closer with each hurried footfall.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Peter awoke early the next morning. He got up and began to dress as quietly as he could, cautious not to stir the other boys in Gryffindor Tower. As he finished clasping his robes he glanced over to the bed left of his; on the floor lay a finished crossword puzzle and an empty box of mints.

Peter knew that this must mean Sirius had been up all night, ruminating over their earlier conversation about Remus. Peter felt lucky that he never had any problems getting to sleep; he was one of those people who could sleep anytime and anywhere if he wanted. Sirius and James occasionally teased him about it when he blearily roused after many attempts at waking him for their late-night hijinks—"What did you do, down the Draught of Living Death? _Get up_, you arse!"—but secretly he was thankful for this ability. He imagined it could be useful one day. Possibly this also helped explain why he had never been able to avoid sleeping all the way through Professor Binn's classes, no matter how hard he fought to stay awake.

Peter spent a lot of time observing his friends and their idiosyncrasies. That's how he knew what Sirius' completed crossword and empty box of Nippy Nackledirk's Mints meant. Sirius could bottle up what he was feeling so completely that no one would ever guess anything was wrong. He would say snarky things to the Slytherins, plan elaborate pranks during classes, and laugh and joke with his friends as if he hadn't a care in the world. His sleepless nights were the only indication that there was trouble simmering beneath the surface.

Peter knew that James and Remus handled their problems in slightly different ways. James was rarely perturbed; Peter remembered he snuck off at midnight to the broomsheds and went flying on the rare occasions when something was worrying him. Then again, this could just be because James had a penchant for illegal risk-taking, and have much less to do with any emotional turmoil.

Remus, at least to Peter, was less obvious when something bothered him; his usual cheerful disposition never faltered. Sometimes, though, like yesterday, he looked paler than usual and seemed to thrum with nervous energy. Peter noted that before his absences he would always bury himself in arcane texts; not, of course, that this was particularly unusual for Remus—but Peter thought it was unusual that such an innocuous activity would leave him especially drained and tired. Like Sirius and his sleepless nights, Peter thought that Remus exhausted himself brooding over his troubles.

He didn't notice nearly as much about the other two Gryffindor second-year boys. The only times they really saw each other outside of classes was in their dormitories, but since the marauders were often busy causing mayhem in other parts of the castle they never interacted much. Peter had never felt like getting to know them better; they were quieter and smaller than James and Sirius, and not nearly as popular or fun. So Peter kept close to the marauders and watched silently.

It was early on a Friday morning so the common room was empty as Peter descended the stairs. Clutching a bag in his right hand, he sat down in a large armchair next to the fireplace and settled down. It was the quiet before daybreak; pale, feeble streaks of color were unfurling across the patch of grey sky that was visible from his perch near the large window in the common room. After gazing at the dawn for a few moments, Peter reached down into his bag and pulled out his sketchpad and his set of Artists' Illustrious Illustrations pencils.

His set of wizarding artist pencils were Peter's most prized possession. Illustrious Illustrations pencils weren't actually all that different from Muggle ones in function. The only distinction was that their colors were charmed never to fade and drawings created with them were resistant to water, fire, and other destructive substances. Once a sketch was completed, Peter performed the Animation charm on it so that the picture would move. It had taken Peter the better part of a month to perfect the charm, and he had ruined a number of drawings in the process. He didn't like stationary drawings nearly as much as ones that moved, so he tenaciously worked it out on his own. He learned that the trick with the charm is to focus on all the emotions and personality he'd envisioned while creating the drawing, manifesting his vision and bringing it to life.

This was Peter's secret passion, the one thing neither James nor Sirius nor Remus could ever hope to best him at. James was, by common consent, a Quidditch God. Remus was clever, and sly when he wanted to be, and obviously a future candidate for Head Boy. And Sirius… well, what wasn't Sirius good at, really? Peter was simultaneously torn between bitterness that his talent was utterly useless at Hogwarts, and secret pride that he had skills his friends didn't. Even if his skills weren't as impressive or useful as theirs, it was his, and his alone. He intended to keep it that way.

These familiar feelings of jealousy and resentment fell away as Peter began to draw. Firmly gripping a drawing pencil in his hand and making the first markings on the blank paper in his lap, his dark thoughts temporarily ceased while his mind instead focused on the image developing before him.

Peter had promised his mum that he'd draw pictures of Hogwarts for her. He hadn't told his friends this, but while his father was a full-fledged wizard, his mum was practically a squib. Since she hadn't attended Hogwarts she was curious about all sorts of things—what the grounds, rooms in the castle, and his professors looked like. Peter had been more than happy to oblige her and lost himself in sketches of Hogwarts and his friends. He drew a picture of James on the Quidditch pitch with a dreamy look on his face, glasses flashing in the midday sun. He sketched a humorous one of Remus and Sirius sitting together in the library; Remus was reading, while Sirius prodded him occasionally and flashed coquettish grins at a sixth year Hufflepuff girl perusing a nearby bookshelf.

He had just started on a picture of the Whomping Willow, which he thought would be fun to animate, when a group of seventh year early risers trooped down from the girls' dormitories. Hastily stashing his sketchpad and pencils in his bag, Peter returned to his room to see if James and Sirius were ready to head off to breakfast.

----------

Remus lay prostrate on the dusty floor of the Shrieking Shack, gasping in shallow, labored breaths. The last of his bones were melding and crunching into place, his joints shifting themselves into his human skeletal structure. Remus always had to avert his eyes as the wolf's inverted joints in his hind legs shot forward to turn into the protruding form of human kneecaps. While the grinding of bones and joints in itself didn't hurt, the niggling feeling that it _should_ was what bothered him the most. He found it easier to screw up his face and wait for the movements of bones reshaping themselves and internal organs squishing into place to cease.

While he never witnessed his wolfish snout shorten into a regular human nose, or saw his ears regain their fleshy tones, Remus could always tell when it happened because he found the distinct lack of sensory input disconcerting. His mind always panicked when his human senses replaced those of the wolf's—it always felt as though someone had turned off the light in a room, rendering him sightless. Human senses simply couldn't compare to a wolf's, and being blind to his surroundings sent him reeling.

The last thing Remus remembered from his transformation back to human form was the itch of his fur as it disappeared, leaving only pale flesh behind. Although his body was bleeding and broken, the self-inflicted wounds didn't bother him as much as the insatiable itch on every inch of skin. It was always like this after transforming back—he was conscious long enough to acknowledge the itchy, creeping discomfort of fur melting like wax into skin before his exhausted mind slipped into oblivion.

Only when Madam Pomfrey woke him later in the infirmary would the real pain set in.

----------

"_Go_ _away_," Sirius groaned, burrowing under the blankets in an attempt to escape Peter's enthusiastic shaking.

"It's time for breakfast! Up, up!" Peter chirped happily, jerking the blankets off Sirius entirely. "Mmmm, do you know, I'm in the mood for some pancakes today, what with that awful Transfiguration exam. I wish I was wherever Remus is so I wouldn't have to take it."

At hearing Remus' name Sirius sat up, blinking at the over-bright sunlight flooding the dormitory.

"When _don't_ you feel like pancakes, Peter?" James snorted, grabbing his toothbrush and comb. "Besides, that Transfiguration exam won't be too bad. We studied for it yesterday. You'll be fine." James finished gathering his toiletries and made to head off for the bathroom.

"Don't see why you even bother with a comb, Jamesikins," Sirius teased, trying to take his mind off what had kept him up half the night. "Your hair is a lost cause. Utterly hopeless."

James threw a pillow at him, but Sirius leapt off his bed and sidestepped it easily. Grinning like a madman, Sirius tackled James and mussed his hair even more. "Aww, don't worry Jamie, Evans probably thinks you're cute anyway, haha!"

James made a horrified face and shoved Sirius off him. "Ack! Evans? I hope not! Merlin's beard, I've never met a more annoying girl! Do you see the way she sucks up to McGonagall in class? She'll be insufferable today!" James stalked off towards the bathroom, leaving Sirius and Peter grinning at his back as he mimicked a high, girlish voice gushing, "Look at me, look at how I turned this thimble into a fluffy kitten, Professor McGonagall, I loooooooove you…."

Sirius, now fully awake, began to dress silently, his brain furiously trying not to think how worried he was about Remus. After a few moments he realized that Peter was staring at him. Sirus paused and quirked an eyebrow. "What's the matter?"

Peter, flushing slightly at having been caught staring, shrugged and made to turn away, but seemed to think better of it and instead asked, "Sirius, are you feeling… all right?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Sirius replied absently, turning back to search for his Gryffindor tie.

"I noticed you didn't sleep much last night, that's all," Peter said. Sirius froze; Peter couldn't possibly know what he'd been thinking about, could he? Just as this stomach-turning thought entered Sirius' head, Peter continued, "I know you were thinking about Remus."

Sirius blanched in horror, breath catching in his throat. Was it _that _obvious he felt differently about Remus? Feeling lightheaded, as though he'd just choked down too much of Ogden's Firewhisky in one go, Sirius slowly turned to look back at Peter. Peter, seeing Sirius' stricken look, rushed to say, "I mean, we're all wondering about what's going on with him, but you shouldn't worry… we'll figure it out."

Mentally chiding himself for panicking, Sirius exhaled and grinned at Peter, who looked relieved to see Sirius acting normally again. "I know. Now, let's go and see what's taking James so long. Probably got distracted, thinking about Evans," quipped Sirius, giving Peter a cheeky wink. Peter laughed, and Sirius felt the color return to his face. Grabbing his tie, Sirius went off with Peter to find James and drag him down to breakfast.

----------

"How are you feeling, dear?"

Remus tried to sit up, but found the pain lacing through his body unbearable, and instead lay gingerly back down on the infirmary bed. Slowly opening his eyes, he saw swirls of dust shimmering in the rays of sunlight that poured through the nearby window. _It's over_, he thought, glad that the sun always followed the moon, conquering it time and time again. _It's over._

"Mr. Lupin? Are you feeling all right?"

Remus belatedly realized that Madam Pomfrey was standing over him with a concerned expression on her face and a dark green bottle in her hand.

"All right," croaked Remus, grimacing at how hoarse his voice was after the full moon.

Madam Pomfrey's expression softened as she poured some of the green bottle's contents into a glass and handed it to Remus. "Here, Mr. Lupin, drink all of this."

Remus glanced dubiously at the foul-smelling liquid, but drank it all in one go anyway. Coughing weakly, he asked, "What's it for?"

"It seems last night's transformation was harsher on your body than usual. You sustained a large number of internal injuries." Looking sympathetically at Remus, she busied herself with fluffing his pillows. "I've already healed the worst of them, but this will help stop any residual internal bleeding."

Remus nodded, wishing she wouldn't look at him like that. He was weak now, but by dinner he would be well enough to join his classmates. He felt bad enough as it was—he didn't want her anxiety weighing on his conscience, too.

"I'm afraid you have quite a gash on your back as well, Mr. Lupin. It's healed, but the cut was too severe to prevent it from scarring. It was so deep it nearly went to your spinal cord, which would have been a much more serious injury, really. I'm sorry I couldn't stop it from leaving a mark."

"It's all right," said Remus, by now accustomed to hearing these accounts of his injuries. Yawning, he closed his eyes, trying to find a position that didn't further aggravate the throbbing of his muscles.

"I'll wake you in a few hours, when the pain should be nearly gone," said Madam Pomfrey soothingly, watching Remus' chest begin to rise and fall in the pattern of sleep.

Eyes welling with tears, Madam Pomfrey turned to find Albus Dumbledore standing a few feet from the infirmary door. Sniffing a little, Madam Pomfrey asked, "Can I help you with anything, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore smiled at her kindly, taking a few steps nearer to where she stood by Remus' bed. "Mr. Lupin is quite the young man. I find that Hogwarts is just the place for those who possess such strength and bravery."

Madam Pomfrey looked into Dumbledore's twinkling eyes and nodded briskly, trying to resume her usual no-nonsense demeanor. "Mr. Lupin is indeed the quintessential Gryffindor."

"That he is, Poppy. I imagine he would make a fine prefect in a few years."

Remus smiled softly into his pillow, mind swimming hazily in the place between sleep and consciousness.

----------

Peter sighed happily as he sank into his seat at the Gryffindor table, ravenous after the stressful exam earlier.

"I'm having roast tonight," said James, sliding in the seat next to Peter while Sirius placed himself across from them. "I don't feel like eating chicken after that debacle in Transfiguration. What on earth that Hufflepuff was thinking…"

Peter chuckled, glad that for once he wasn't the one who messed up in McGonagall's class.

"You shouldn't make fun of other students, Potter!" said Lily sharply, who was sitting a few places away from them, apparently waiting for her giggly entourage to join her. "It isn't very sporting of you, you know."

James glared at her, then turned around and rolled his eyes at Sirius and Peter, who exchanged amused glances at the usual repartee between the two. "I wasn't making fun Evans, I was just saying I didn't feel like eating chicken, not that it's any of _your_ business."

Lily snorted and opened her mouth to retort, but just then her friend Eliza plunked down in the seat beside her. Giving James one last disdainful sniff, Lily turned away and began chatting with her friend.

"How can anyone be so interfering?" James said darkly, glaring at the back of Lily's head. "Honestly."

Sirius grinned at him, leaning across the table and speaking into his ear, "Cute though, isn't she? All those long locks of auburn hair and those bright green eyes…"

"Oh, come off it Sirius," snapped James, turning pink either from embarrassment or rage, Peter couldn't tell. "Are you telling me you fancy _her_?"

Grinning even more widely, Sirius said in an awful, saccharine voice, "No, but I think I know someone who does—"

Sirius stopped mid-sentence, eyes fixed on something behind them, his own cheeks beginning to flush. James and Peter both turned around in their seats, wondering what had caused Sirius to halt so abruptly. It took them both a moment to notice that Remus had entered the Great Hall, and was walking slowly towards them.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

**Remus' Journal Entry**

September 25th, 1972

There is something daunting about a blank journal. This one is new and nice smelling and filled with lots of cream-colored pages. I think it smells like cedar, which is probably why I suddenly remember winter nights back home with my parents, right after the full moons when I would be consumed with the smell of the forest. I don't know why the thought of keeping a journal came to me-- I suppose that after last night I need something to tell my thoughts to, since it can't be someone. I know Sirius, James, and Peter would never think to keep a journal. I guess it's not something normal teen boys do, is it? Still, I'm not just a teen boy, not really, so I'm not suffering under any delusions that I'm normal. Even if I was just Remus I still wouldn't be normal, seeing as how Sirius is always teasing me for reading too much and worrying too much and I suppose acting too much like a girl in general, what with my quiet wonderings. I think if he knew I was keeping a journal his teasing me for being a girl would suddenly be filled with much more conviction. _Note to self: Hide diary journal and look up some advanced locking charms!_

I suppose I should fill up these 400 blank pages (I just now counted) though I'm not sure that I have anything interesting to say. Rather I just have a secret that's _tearing me apart_, haha, _literally!_ Oh Merlin, now I'm going mad.

I never knew anyone my age before coming to Hogwarts, so I don't have much practice in confiding, which is probably why I feel like a prat writing my thoughts down. It's not as if confiding in anyone was ever an option for me. I remember my parents' nervousness about me going to school and they made _me_ nervous about leaving. Their anxiety was understandable, all things considered.

I could tell they were surprised when I wrote to them that I'd made friends with Sirius, James, and Peter. I think they felt guilty afterwards for assuming that I wouldn't make friends, and if I thought they wouldn't deny it then I'd tell them not to feel guilty for thinking that, since our friendship still surprises me, too. How I can sit down next to Sirius, James, and Peter any time I want and they don't tell me to sod off, and how I am allowed to tell _them _to sod off when they ask to copy my homework (as long as I give in and let them anyway). I don't think I'll ever take friendship casually, like how James and Sirius naturally play off one another and never seem to think the connection between them is something incredible. I can laugh with the marauders about our nighttime wanderings and pranks, but I'll never go to bed after thinking it ordinary and expected. It will always be surprising to find that there are three people who like _me_, three people who want to take me away from my books so that I can live with them in the present. Instead I'll always go to bed after our adventures increasingly convinced that they can never find out the truth about me, or else I'd lose this wonderful, surprising thing forever.

I don't have a fear of being alone. I enjoy the solitude, as long as I have a good book and a comfortable chair. It's the feeling of being alone in a crowd that makes me want to crawl inside myself and disappear. Stupid, really. I should at least be able to feign the easy-going confidence that Sirius has. He walks into a crowded room and he's the center of everything, smiling effortlessly and looking utterly nonchalant. I, on the other hand, shut my mouth and go sort of rigid, like someone tried to cast _Petrificus Totalus_ on me and it only worked half-way. But when it's just the marauders and me in a room together I can return Sirius's grin and move all my limbs with ease. Lying to them every full moon is the one exception to this-- I feel again as if I'm lost in a sea of people, rigid appendages floundering in the panic that wells up inside me.

I don't know what I was expecting last night when I went and sat down for dinner in the Great Hall. I was nervous, but in a calm, detached sort of way. Like I was heading into a battle and was sure I wouldn't live to see the next sunrise, but knew that I must forge ahead anyway, expecting the worst and trying not to think about how it would feel to be without Sirius and the marauders. That's the one thing I had assumed—that I would be kicked out of the group, perhaps to be replaced by one of the other second year Gryffindor boys.

My insides sloshed around like pumpkin juice and I wondered if I should just tell them the truth, but then I came to my senses and realized that despite Sirius' vehement proclamations of despising his pureblood family's prejudices, he too would reject me. There are some things that defy any Natural Order, and always will be intolerable to wizards. I'd rather he hate me for lying than hate me for what I am.

So I knew the battle was coming, but I didn't know how the attack would begin. I sat down in my usual seat next to Sirius and waited for the first blow to fall.

It never came.

----------

Remus set aside his quill and stared down at the words he'd just written. This journal idea seemed a poor substitute for someone real to talk to. It couldn't answer all the burning questions that were on his mind, like _what am I going to say next full moon?_ and _how long will it take for them to figure out the truth?_

He didn't know why Sirius, James, and Peter had dropped the subject of his disappearances so quickly, although Remus had a sinking feeling that they had merely devised a plan to find out the truth. And, if the marauders had a plan to do something, Remus knew from experience that one way or another, and usually in the worst way possible, they'd accomplish it. Keeping a journal lying around would be begging for one of them to snoop through it. Really, what locking charms could keep a determined Sirius and James out?

Confused and disheartened, Remus closed his journal and shoved it to the end of the table he was sitting at in the library. Usually he found the dusty bookshelves comforting, thousands of years of knowledge tucked away in untold volumes, but he was too anxious to take solace in his escape.

_It's a miracle I have any friends at all,_ Remus thought miserably, bringing one hand up to rub his throbbing temple. _Not that I will have them for much longer—_

"Remus?" a soft voice questioned cautiously, its owner sitting down in the seat across from him.

Remus made a noncommittal noise from behind his hand, not removing the feeble shield. At first he couldn't discern who the voice belonged to, but after a moment of contemplation he realized it was Lily's. It had been hard to recognize, seeing as how he usually heard her voice when she was yelling in righteous indignation at James or Sirius.

"Remus, why are you crying?" she asked, her voice now gentle and feminine and full of concern.

Remus' hand flew off his face. "I'm not crying!" he said quickly, hoping the fact that he felt like it would escape Lily's notice.

Lily smiled at him. "I knew that," she said, "but I didn't know how else to get you to stop hiding and talk to me. Really Remus, what's wrong?"

And in the puzzling way that females have, Lily's voice seemed to flow around him, beckoning him to open his heart and soul to her. The pounding of his head and heart subsided as he imagined how wonderful it would feel, if only for a few brief moments, to be free of the insidious secret eating him from the inside out.

Remus quickly shook off the urge.

"Why are you calling me Remus?" was what came out of his mouth instead, and after he said it he felt immediate regret. He hadn't meant to sound so rude; she was being nice, after all.

Lily, however, didn't seem perturbed at his question, and merely shrugged, saying, "Well, you're not a prat like Black and Potter. I don't know, to be honest. I guess I just see more of myself in you, if that makes any sense."

"Great," Remus muttered, self-disgust surging inside him, "as if Sirius doesn't tell me often enough that I'm a complete girl."

Lily laughed at this, saying kindly, "That's not what I meant at all! You're actually very handsome, you know. You'd make an awful girl."

Remus thought disjointedly, this isn't happening. Lily—no, _Evans_—is not sitting here with me in the library, calling me_ Remus_ and _handsome_ in that soft girl voice, and oh Merlin, am I _blushing_?

Lily tucked a lock of her red hair behind her ear, and looked at Remus as if sizing him up, and Remus did all he could to fight the instincts that were screaming for him to _run, run away, and don't look back…_

"So is that why you're upset, then? Black, Potter, and Pettigrew are being gits?"

Remus considered this. His friends were concerned about him because he had been lying to them about his absences, and they had decided to get to the bottom of it. "No," he said truthfully, feeling a terrible twist of guilt in his chest as he answered Lily. "The opposite, actually. They're the best friends I could ever ask for, and I…" Remus trailed off. _I what?_ _I lie to them about being a werewolf so they won't abandon me? I lie to them and cause them to worry? I lie to Sirius and he looks at me with that hurt, lost look on his face, as if he can't understand why I'm doing this to _him_…_

Lily looked politely incredulous, but reached out and patted him softly on the shoulder anyway. "Well, I'm sorry about whatever it is that's bothering you," she said, as if understanding Remus' reticence, and Remus had the slightly hysterical thought that she'd make a wonderful mother someday.

Giving him one last sympathetic pat, Lily got up quietly and walked down the row of bookshelves, making her way towards the exit.

Remus sat still for a few moments, digesting his strange conversation with Lily. It reminded him of his odd confrontation with Snape in the entrance hall. He would never have expected either of them to take any kind of interest in him, and couldn't understand why they seemed to care. Surprised that anyone besides his fellow marauders noticed him, Remus turned to write down some of his conflicting thoughts in his journal, rationalizing to himself that it might make more sense if he could see it down on paper, and that it wasn't a diary, or any kind of evidence to merit Sirius' suspicions concerning his masculinity.

The only problem with this plan, Remus realized, was that his journal was no longer there.

----------

For once Sirius didn't feel like asking Remus for help on the homework he'd waited until the last minute to start on. Since he and James didn't really _need _to study to do well in all their classes, they'd both developed a bad habit of procrastinating on long-term assignments. Sighing softly, he opened his copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and rifled to the page assigned by Professor Kettleburn, and began to read.

"The mooncalf is an intensely shy creature," _like Remus_, Sirius' thoughts interjected, "that emerges from its burrow only at the full moon. Its body—"_Remus' body is nice_, Sirius' thoughts again interrupted his reading, _he's much stronger than he looks, lots of muscle beneath those jumpers. And_ _all that dirty blonde hair that falls over his eyes, I bet it's as soft as it looks. I wonder what Remus would do if I touched it? And his eyes are a nice sort of brown, like the color of James' tawny owl, but much more sparkly, more golden—_

Suddenly Remus was standing in front of Sirius, dirty-blonde hair clinging in wet strands to his sweaty forehead, golden-brown eyes frantic, and panting spasmodically. Sirius worked hard to ignore the voice in the back of his mind (which sounded treacherously like his mother's) that shouted at him for using a word like _sparkly_ to describe anyone's eyes, much less those of his best mate.

"Did—did you—" Remus gasped, trying to articulate something, Sirius couldn't tell what.

"Oi, Remus, what's up?" called James from across the common room, where he was playing exploding snap with Peter. Unlike Sirius, James and Peter had no qualms about asking Remus to copy his Care of Magical Creatures homework later that night.

Remus slumped in the chair next to Sirius, putting his head in his hands, still breathing fast. James and Peter put down their cards and walked over to where he and Sirius sat.

"You guys didn't, did you?" asked Remus miserably, shallow breathing now even enough to speak in full sentences.

"We didn't what?" asked Peter, his question echoing Sirius' confusion.

"Didn't—didn't take my journal."

There was a pause. Then:

"You keep a _diary_?" Sirius said in gleeful incredulity, half-laughing.

"It's not a diary, it's a _journal_, and yes, I just started. Unlike _some_ people," and this was accompanied by a glare in Sirius' direction, "I happen to have thoughts worth recording."

"It's missing? Well, why did you think we'd taken it?" James asked, sounding more curious than offended.

Remus sighed, and mumbled something that they couldn't make out. Sirius had a feeling it had to do with suspicions of them snooping to get to the bottom of Remus' disappearances.

"Well, it wasn't us, we've been up in Gryffindor Tower all day," said James, ignoring Remus' unintelligible comment. "Where were you when you realized it was missing?"

"The library."

"Was anyone else with you?" asked James, brows furrowing in contemplation.

Remus colored. "Well, Lily was with me…." he trailed off.

Sirius was taken aback—Remus and Evans? _Lily_? Together? Alone, in the library? Sirius felt as though all the wind had been knocked out of him.

"You—you and Evans?" James asked, in a strangled sort of voice.

"What?" Remus asked, looking at James, bewildered. Then comprehension dawned, and Remus began to glow an even brighter shade of pink. "No! No, of course not!" he hurriedly explained. "She just came and talked to me for a minute, that's all!"

Sirius started breathing again.

"But Lily wouldn't take someone else's dia—_journal_," Sirius quickly corrected at seeing Remus' warning look. "I mean, it'd be against what she's always on about. It wouldn't be "sporting" or some such rubbish."

"I didn't think it was her," said Remus, starting to get that panicked look in his face again, the blush having vanished from his cheeks as quickly as it had come.

"Well, didn't you say you'd just started it?" Peter asked, taking a seat across from Sirius and Remus at the table. "It's not like you had any of our really bad pranks written down, is it? So if the Slytherins took it they wouldn't find out that it was us who bewitched Pratchett's knickers, right?"

Remus paled even more. "No, they wouldn't find out about Pratchett's knickers," he said hoarsely, "they'd have much, much better blackmail than that."

"Why, did you write about a girl you fancy?" snickered James, now recovered from the shock of hearing about Remus and Lily together in the library, and ostensibly relieved Remus didn't fancy _that_ annoying girl.

"You don't understand!" said Remus in a fervent undertone, "It's not some joke, James! How would you feel if you wrote down the most private and personal things about yourself in a journal, and then someone, most likely a Slytherin, stole it? It wouldn't be so funny then, would it?"

"Remus, it's all right, we'll help you get it back," said Sirius, alarmed that Remus was so panic-stricken. Remus had never lost his composure like this before.

"Yeah, don't worry mate, we'll help you get it back," said James boldly, "And I'd bet anything it was Snape. Greasy git."

Remus looked as though he wanted to say something, but then Peter chimed in, "Yep, I bet it was. Well, let's go down to the Great Hall for dinner and see if you can hex him, James."

"Right then!" said Sirius, seizing Remus by the arm and pulling him up from the table, glad for the excuse to quit his Care of Magical Creatures homework. "Off we go, to find Snivellus! Marauders, let the debauchery begin!"

Remus groaned, but followed James, Peter, and Sirius through the portrait hole and down to the Great Hall.

----------

Remus couldn't eat a bite of his dinner, despite all Sirius' attempts at persuasion. His stomach was tied in knots, and horrible _what ifs_ were running through his mind. He kept eyeing the Slytherin table, but didn't see anyone recoiling or screaming in horror, so he supposed that whoever had taken his journal either wasn't in Slytherin or wasn't in the Great Hall.

"You know, I don't see Snape," said Peter, staring intently at the Slytherin table. "Too bad, I really wanted to watch James hex him."

James and Sirius cracked into identical wicked grins.

"I think I'm going to be sick," said Remus, and leapt from the Gryffindor table to exit the Great Hall, beyond caring about how stupid he must look. _This is not happening…_

He rushed out of the Great Hall and collapsed on the floor in the entryway, mind numbly considering the gravity of his situation. _Soon everyone will find out,_ Remus thought dazedly,_ Dumbledore will be sacked and it will be all my fault, it will be all over the _Daily Prophet_ and oh god, Sirius will hate me even more for finding out like that—I'll never have any friends again, I'll never see the marauders after this, and it won't matter because they won't want to see me…_

Remus was so lost in his anguish that he didn't notice the presence of another student until he saw the end of his robe in front of him. Remus uncomprehendingly looked up into the face of Severus Snape, his mind momentarily shocked into a state of calm.

"I believe this belongs to you." Snape spoke matter-of-factly, without any trace of emotion, as he held out Remus' journal to him.

_I must have gone mad_, Remus thought. _Absolutely bonkers. I am hallucinating…_

"Well? Are you going to take it, or do you _want_ me to read it?"

At this Remus pounced forward and snatched the journal, landing unsteadily on his feet as he clutched it to his chest and faced Snape uncertainly. "You mean…" Remus stuttered, completely flabbergasted, "you didn't…. you didn't…."

"No, I didn't read it," Snape said dryly, "fascinating as your innermost thoughts must be, I felt that the group of first year Slytherin girls shouldn't waste their time with such possessions of ill-repute."

"First year… Slytherin girls?" Remus tried to wrap his brain around this explanation. "But… why?"

"They believed your journal was Evans's," Snape commented tersely. "They claimed they wanted revenge on her for ending their torment of an unfortunate third year Hufflepuff." The edges of Snape's lips quirked into what may have been the beginnings of a smile, but a second later Remus thought he had imagined it, for Snape had the same insouciant expression on his face.

Remus, still dumbly grasping his journal protectively to his chest, stood before Snape and tried to process this information. "So…" he began timidly, "They didn't read it, either?"

This time Snape did smile, much to Remus' surprise, although the effect wasn't entirely pleasant; it seemed more like a half-hearted sneer.

"Why Lupin, what do you have to be so nervous about?" Snape didn't pause for an answer though, which Remus was thankful for. He didn't think he was capable of forming any response to that. "I overheard the first years talking as they were exiting the library, and I demanded to see the journal. I saw today's date scrawled across the top of the first page and immediately recognized your handwriting. I remember it from partnering you in Defense Against the Dark Arts last week, when we had to write that Dark Creatures essay."

Remus absorbed his words slowly, pushing away the residual traces of panic from last week when Snape had asked him a question about werewolf origins. After a few moments his clenched stomach relaxed, the realization that his secret was safe washing over him in comforting waves.

"You didn't read my journal.." It wasn't a question; Remus had heard the truth in Snape's words, even if trusting a Slytherin was an entirely foreign concept to him. Snape gazed haughtily back at Remus, as if to say _of course I didn't, you prat._ He didn't say it, though, and Remus knew this gesture was costing Snape some of his pride, and Remus swelled with gratitude.

"How can I…" Remus began earnestly, a relieved smile on his face.

"Don't mention it." Remus understood his response to be a command, not a "you're welcome," and nodded his compliance. Snape turned on his heel and headed down the dungeon staircase, oily hair shining in the torchlight until it disappeared from view.

Remus stood there for over a full minute, rooted to the spot, staring blankly at the journal that had nearly cost him both his life at Hogwarts and any hopes for his future afterwards. He tucked it inside the pockets of his robes just as he heard footsteps behind him.

"Remus!"

He turned around to see Sirius standing alone, carrying a glass of water and some crackers.

"I thought you were sick in the bathroom!" Sirius explained, gesturing to the water and crackers unnecessarily. "I was just about to come and see how you were doing. You're feeling better, then?"

Remus grinned widely and, not pausing to consider how Sirius would take it, he strode over and embraced him. For a few moments Remus felt so content he thought he would burst, standing there with Sirius in his arms and his secret safe once more. Then he realized that he was hugging his very-male friend and would again be forced to lie about his lycanthropy, and the blissful feeling passed. He let go of Sirius, who had tensed with surprise at Remus' touch, and Remus grinned apologetically at him.

"I got my journal back," Remus explained, hoping that Sirius wouldn't call him a girl for embracing him or something else, something that was far closer to the truth. Sirius shook himself before answering.

"Really? How? Did you find out who nicked it?"

"Some first year Slytherin girls took it by mistake."

Sirius snorted.

"Why would they bother returning it, if there wasn't something in it for them? Remus, did they blackmail you!"

"No! A…. a friend returned it, after they realized the mistake had been made. No one even read it."

Sirius looked at him quizzically, as if debating whether or not to ask Remus who his mysterious friend was. He seemed to decide against it, though, perhaps guessing that Remus wanted to keep that private. Remus knew that Sirius wouldn't have given James such an easy time of it, and would have demanded to know—but then again, James didn't have any secrets to keep.

"Well, at least you have it back now," Sirius said, changing the topic. "You can look up some secure locking charms to cast on it, and maybe a few good tracing spells, too."

----------

September 26, 1972

It turns out that I'll never see these 400 blank pages filled (well, 391, technically, since my handwriting is so big and scrawled that nine pages have already been written on). I wanted to, since writing everything down lessens the essential loneliness of secrecy, but I realize now what a mistake that would be. It has been a few hours since Snape returned my journal, and I haven't been able to bring myself to destroy this, not yet. I thought that I'd write a final entry, one last testament, of all the things that I can never say.

So, here it is: to the marauders, my faithful friends—I'm sorry. I'm sorry for my lies, I'm sorry I can be such a wet blanket, and I'm sorry that I _always_ lose points for Gryffindor in Potions. I'm sorry for spending unnatural amounts of time reading, and studying, and generally trying (and failing) to stop you three from causing too much mayhem. I'm sorry that I don't much like Quidditch, and for that time when I choked on one of Sirius' mints and he had to save me and in so doing we both got curses thrown at us from that awful blonde upper-year Slytherin (and I'm sorry, Peter, but I think that unfortunate burn mark will never fade entirely).

I wish I were more like you three. Instead, I'm sitting in the common room alone at 5 am, writing my goodbyes to an inanimate object, wishing I could banish my feelings for Sirius, knowing that even if he did, somehow, miraculously, feel the same way that I do, I'd never take that final step because it would go against The Higher Power that controls my life.

I'm sorry, Sirius, for my weakness. I've never been more sorry for it since I fell in love with you.

And I'm sorry that my handwriting is rubbish, and that I've proved Lily wrong—

I really am a girl.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"Well…" said Remus, hesitating, "I _do_ hate him, figuratively speaking."

"You hate him figuratively?" James repeated, sounding doubtful.

"I didn't know that was possible," came the thoughtful reply from the closet, which Peter was currently searching.

"_It's not_," said Sirius, emphatically. "It's _not_ possible. Remus, _what has gotten into you?_"

"Nothing, Sirius, it's just… I mean, I know he can be tetchy and annoying, and yes, all right, I know we have understandable reservations concerning his personal hygiene, but really, I don't see why we should waste a perfectly good Halloween bothering with him."

James and Sirius stared at him, incredulous. Peter gave a feeble cough, still buried in the closet.

"We're _marauders_," James said finally, looking uneasy in the rift that seemed to have blossomed between them. "Since when has pranking ever been _bothersome_?"

"It's not," Remus said, grappling to find words that could extricate him from the mess he'd fallen into. "It's just, well… why are we focusing all our strategy on one person?"

"Because he's _Snape_," replied Sirius with conviction, "and he's a sniveling Slytherin, and needs to learn that he can't spout off all the time with his pureblood—"

"You know," said James, interrupting Sirius mid-tirade, "Remus has a point. Why are we wasting a perfectly good opportunity on only one person, when we could prank _the whole school_?"

"I didn't know that was possible," Peter said again, only this time it was accompanied with a reverent sigh as he momentarily poked his head out from the closet, his gaze full of awe as he looked at James.

Sirius looked contemplative, and Remus seized the opportunity.

"Exactly my point! Look, instead of targeting Snape, we should do something that _everyone_ will notice. It'd be much more impressive, really. Besides, Sirius, everyone will be expecting you to curse Snape, especially after last year's flamenco incident… so why don't we do something different?"

"Yeah, we don't want a reputation of being predictable," agreed James, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Remus nodded his agreement.

"And it would be, well, sort of a red herring, really, and no one will expect anything huge. Think about it, Sirius—we have a real chance to dosomething _no one has done before_."

As Remus had been hoping, Sirius's flair for the dramatic sealed their fates. Sirius rubbed his hands together and gave a wicked cackle.

"Halloween," he said, "The marauders will become _legend_."

"Ah hah!" Peter cried triumphantly, finally emerging from the closet with his long sought-after book for Muggle Studies.

Remus did some quick calculations in his head. Halloween was over a month away, and there was a full moon about a week before it, on the twenty-second.

Remus' relief was quickly replaced with the unpleasant feeling that he'd just leapt out of the cauldron and into the fire, figuratively speaking.

----------

James's voice sounded loud and clear in the still night air.

"And the handsome, charming, _spectacularly _talented Chaser James Potter flies across the pitch, eliciting cheers from the crowd as he starts after the Quaffle!"

James swooped and dived, imagining a stand full of girls shouting him on, a certain red-head conspicuously absent from the fantasy.

"Potter soars across the pitch, looking quite dashing in his Quidditch robes, narrowly escaping a bludger by performing the high-risk, potentially-fatal Sloth Grip Roll of DEATH!"

James paused for effect; then, in one fluid movement, he rolled over and hung upside down, mentally congratulating himself on his death-defying feat.

"And he's off again, naturally assuming the lead in the Hawkshed Attacking Formation, flying at break-neck speed toward the Slytherin goal posts! The crowd grows silent, waiting with bated breath as Potter intrepidly advances on the pitch, easily outstripping the pathetic attempts of the Slytherins to break the Gryffindor chasers' arrowhead formation!"

James wished he had a real Quaffle to practice with, but found that his flying, along with detailed commentary, was still great practice for his future career as Chaser on the Kenmare Kestrels, which was credited with having created the famous Hawkshed Attack he was now doing a _superb_ job of leading, if he did say so himself.

"The other two Gryffindor chasers are forced to break away as the Slytherin beaters descend upon them, but Potter outsmarts them once again and pulls up in a sudden, _glorious_ burst of speed, Quaffle _still_ in his possession!"

James pulled up on his broom, exulting in the way the wind blew through his hair, smiling up at the waning moon as he imagined dozens of star-struck girls gazing at him adoringly from the stands. James grinned to himself, and, despite what Sirius always said, was convinced the moonlight only accentuated his sexily-mussed hair.

"Potter resumes his path to the goal posts, intimidating glare causing the Slytherin keeper to tremble with fright! The keeper pitifully tries to defend his hoops, but let's face facts, _no one_ has a chance against Potter!"

The crowd boos the Slytherin keeper, and James appreciatively does a theatrical spiral in the air before swooping behind the central hoop to toss the Quaffle through it.

"AND POTTER SCORES! Gryffindor is now leading 160 to 0! Gryffindor doesn't even need a Seeker on the team, thanks to Potter's awe-inspiring skill! He's _unstoppable! _"

James gave in to the thrill of flying and abandoned his impromptu "practice," instead diving and swerving in the air, glad for the privacy of the moonlit night. Everything became so much simpler, somehow, when he was flying, so he slipped out of Gryffindor Tower alone a few times every month to escape into the night sky. Most of the time James was glad to have Sirius and the marauders along, but his fantasies of professional Quidditch glory were his own clandestine dreams.

Well, clandestine until he actually becomes the lead chaser, instead of only a right wing. Which he assumed would be next year, after seventh-year Chaser McCormack graduates. Then James would officially be the Gryffindor Quidditch Hero, instead of a surprisingly talented second-year player. _Next year_, James thought to himself with a smile, and landed gently on the pitch to retrieve his Invisibility Cloak.

Clutching his Nimbus 1000 in one hand, James threw the cloak over himself and made his way back to the castle. Before opening the entrance hall doors, James strained his ears to detect any signs of patrolling teachers or Filch. After satisfying his caution, James proceeded to Gryffindor Tower.

However, he had only started down the shortcut on the third floor when he heard voices.

"How is he doing, Poppy? Albus told me it was worse than last time."

_Bollocks!_ James recognized McGonagall's voice and ran through a fairly imaginative string of curses in his head. He knew he would be in for it if his head of house caught him out of bounds this late at night _again._ He flattened himself against the wall, listening as their voices echoed loudly in the empty hallway.

"It was worse this time," a female voice sighed, and James realized it was Madam Pomfrey. "I think it's only getting harder on him."

"It's a wonder he managed to make-up his Transfiguration exam so soon," murmured McGonagall, whom James could now distinguish from the shadows in the corridor.

James held his breath as they drew nearer, willing his heart to stop beating quite so loudly…

"He was in such a state," Madam Pomfrey said, her voice breaking. "It was all I could do to keep from crying—Minerva, you should have seen the gash on his back. It's dreadful, seeing him like that in the infirmary, after every…." She trailed off.

James, his curiosity piqued at hearing the austere nurse so emotional, slowly exhaled after they had passed him, and strained to hear the rest of their conversation.

McGonagall made a sympathetic clucking noise, and responded solemnly, "There there, Poppy, you're doing all you can for him. If it wasn't for you and Albus, he wouldn't have been able to attend Hogwarts at all."

James slowly crept forward, carefully maintaining several paces between himself and McGonagall, his curiosity outweighing his common sense.

"A fat lot of good Hogwarts will do him!"

"Poppy,keep your voice down!"

Madam Pomfrey sniffed. "I'm sorry Minerva, it's just—I don't think he'll ever have a chance to put his Hogwarts education to use. And more's the pity that the world will never see the many gifts Remus Lupin has to offer!"

James stopped dead in his tracks, working through what he'd just heard.

It took a few moments, but comprehension dawned and left a horrified James Potter staring in their wake.

----------

Once again Peter was making his way down to the common room in the pre-dawn hours. His bag, containing his sketch pad and artists' pencils, was slung over his shoulder.

He stopped short when he realized the common room wasn't as empty as he'd assumed it would be.

The room was dark but for the fire. Someone was standing before it, his back to Peter, profile black against the orange glow. Instinctively, Peter pulled out his sketchpad and pencil and began to draw the figure before him.

For a while there was only stillness in the room, the crackling of the fire drowning out the faint sounds of Peter's pencils. Just as Peter was beginning to shade in the figure's shadow, the person suddenly turned around, causing Peter to give a yelp of surprise.

"Peter?" the figure asked uncertainly, beginning to move closer.

Peter couldn't make out the boy's features since the fire was backlighting his face, but he recognized the voice. "Hallo, Remus," Peter replied, grinning faintly. "I thought I'd be the only one up at this hour."

"Hmm, so did I," Remus said, now close enough for Peter to see his face. "What's that?"

It took a moment for Peter to realize that Remus was referring to his sketchpad and artists' pencils.

"Oh, this… it's nothing, nothing at all," Peter said, shifting from foot to foot and wondering how he could explain the bag full of sketches on the floor.

Remus, however, didn't demand any explanations. Instead he pulled a book from the inside of his pockets and said, "I guess I'm not the only one with secrets, then."

Although Peter saw that he was smiling, he could also detect uncharacteristic bitterness in Remus' wry tone.

"And… keeping secrets—you don't like to?" Peter asked, trying to make sense of what Remus was feeling, and failing miserably. He couldn't understand why Remus didn't like the solitude of secrets; he had a sense of satisfaction in keeping his talent concealed.

"No, I don't like keeping secrets," Remus said firmly, tightening his grip on the book, which, judging from its leather binding, Peter realized must be Remus' journal. "Not at all."

Peter cleared his throat.

Uncertainly, Peter looked down at the drawing in his hands. He was quite proud of it, really—he had captured the strangeness of the scene in dark, shadowy detail. Gathering his resolve, he wordlessly handed it to Remus for his inspection.

Remus' eyes widened slightly as he studied Peter's sketch, and Peter began to grow anxious.

"Is it… is it all right?"

"Do you have any more?" Remus said, not looking away from the sketch in his hand.

Peter picked up his bag and set it down carefully on a nearby table. He pulled out his recent sketches of Hogwarts and handed them to Remus as well.

Remus mutely accepted them, looking over them so slowly and carefully that it became agony for Peter to await his judgment. Remus was the first person besides his parents to see his drawings, and really, his parents' ringing endorsement didn't mean anything—they were supposed to like whatever he drew, even if they were stick figures.

When Remus got to the yet inanimate sketch of the Whomping Willow, he looked up at Peter.

"Would… would you mind if I kept this one?" asked Remus with a strange tremor in his voice, though his face showed no trace of emotion.

"Well… I haven't charmed it to move yet," said Peter, his brow wrinkling in confusion. Why would Remus want that particular sketch?

"I know," Remus said, face still a mask. "I rather like the Whomping Willow better this way."

Peter nodded, although he did not understand.

"Thanks for showing me your sketches. They're really quite excellent, you know."

"Oh—well, thanks, then. You had me worried there for a minute."

Remus gave Peter a searching look. "I can't imagine why you would want to keep it secret from us, though."

Peter shrugged and avoided Remus' questioning gaze. Somehow he knew Remus wouldn't understand his dark enjoyment in keeping certain things hidden.

The silence stretched between them as each attended to his own thoughts. The first hints of dawn were now visible through the common room window, and Peter observed with distracted enthrallment as the whole of the room was bathed in clear light, overpowering the glow from the hearth.

Remus turned towards the window, a contented look on his face.

"You're a morning person, are you?" asked Peter, finally breaking the silence.

Remus looked at him. "I always have been," he said quietly.

Without another word he walked to the fire, and tossed his journal into the flames.

----------

Sirius was watching Peter drool with a disgusted sort of fascination when James passed him a note in History of Magic.

_Sirius,_

_Last night I was out under the invisibility cloak when I heard Pomfrey and McGonagall talking about Remus. We need to talk, in private, it's urgent. Don't mention this to ANYONE._

_--James_

Peter drooled on in his sleep beside Sirius. Remus, who was on the other side of Peter, was drowsily gazing out the window, completely oblivious of him and James passing Top Secret Notes.

_Darling Jamesikins,_

_You went out last night without me? You were out with Evans, weren't you? I am hurt, James. Deeply wounded._

_You sound awfully nervous. Are you sure what you heard is urgent? Maybe you had bits of pudding smushed in your ears again, like the last time we went down to raid the kitchens, so you couldn't hear them properly. Tricky business, puddings._

_Anyway why would they be gossiping about Remus? He's bloody boring. I, on the other hand, am exciting and charming and witty, and quite obviously the most brilliant and spectacular student in our year—nay, in all of Hogwarts! I suppose you're a close second, though, so don't feel too bad._

_Attractively Yours,_

_--Sirius_

Sirius, who had been expecting to hear James's stifled snort of laughter, was irritated when he was met only with silence and another doomsday note.

_Sirius,_

_Stop being a prat and listen to me. _

_I did NOT have pudding in my ears, namely because YOU weren't there to stuff my head in the pudding bowl. Besides, I wasn't in the kitchens anyway. If you_ _must know, I was practicing Quidditch. ALONE. (As in no_ _Evans!)_

_Prick._

_Anyway, I HEARD Pomfrey and McGonagall talking, and I'm telling you it's really bad. I couldn't believe it, I still can't, but Pomfrey was about to cry, so I must've heard them properly, even if I haven't accepted it yet._

_We need to talk._

_--JAMES _

James was being annoying and cryptic, and that, in Sirius's opinion, was no way to entertain one's best mate during History of Magic.

Before writing James back Sirius glanced up at Remus. Remus' elbow was propped on the desk, supporting his head in his hand, his eyelids fluttering in the beginnings of sleep.

_James,_

_You're mad. _

_Now stop being a git and just tell me already._

_--Sirius_

Sirius heard a heavy sigh, and was surprised to see the shaky script on the note James passed back to him.

_Sirius—_

_Pomfrey and McGonagall said that Remus has been in the infirmary, badly injured, and that he might not live to graduate from Hogwarts. I don't understand it, but I'm sure that's what I heard._

Sirius froze.

He was in the process of rereading the slip of parchment for the umpteenth time when Peter emitted a sudden grunt in his sleep, causing him to choke on his large quantities of drool. Remus, startled out of his doze, helpfully patted Peter on the back. Without opening an eye, Peter began snoring softly, still fast asleep.

Remus looked up at Sirius, a look of bemused astonishment on his face. Sirius, surreptitiously maneuvering James's note so that Remus couldn't see it, smiled at him, then turned and pretended to pay attention to Professor Binns.

Sirius was numb. It wasn't possible, it couldn't be, it didn't make any sense—_Remus was fine._ Deathly ill people didn't attend classes regularly!

A nagging voice in Sirius' head reminded him that Remus _didn't_ attend classes regularly. _But he looks relatively healthy,_ he rationalized with himself. James must have misheard Madam Pomfrey; there was no other explanation. The school nurse had never failed to heal a Hogwarts student before.

Besides, Sirius reassured himself, what _couldn't_ be cured by magic?

----------

Remus yawned as he turned in his quiz. He had been the last one to put down his quill; the exhaustion that had seeped through his body made him feel sluggish and disoriented. He always had a harder time focusing on his classes after a full moon.

Professor Kettleburn shuffled the students' parchment and stacked them onto his desk, then turned to face the class.

"I trust that you all completed your reading assignment on mooncalves?"

Remus nodded, along with the rest of the students.

"Good. We're beginning a long-term study on them, in conjunction with your Herbology class. Can anyone tell me why?"

Remus didn't raise his hand, not wanting to call attention to himself during Care of Magical Creatures. While werewolves weren't a likely topic of discussion, as they were in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor Kettleburn's mooncalf assignment was close to being in dangerous territory.

"Yes, Mr. MacMillan?"

Remus looked over at his fellow Gryffindor second-year, a withdrawn boy called Richard MacMillan, as he answered, "If a mooncalf's silvery dung is collected on the night of a full moon, it can be used to help magical plants and herbs grow more quickly."

"Five points to Gryffindor! Very good, Mr. MacMillan! Your assignment, to be turned in next class, is a twelve-inch description of the mooncalves' magical properties and uses in Herbology. Extra credit will be given to those who provide a clearly labeled illustration of the creature. Class dismissed!"

Care of Magical Creatures was, thankfully, their last class of the day. Remus grabbed his bag and fell into step with Sirius, James, and Peter, and tried to ignore the strange glances Sirius and James were furtively sharing. While fascinating, Remus had long ago given up trying to decode their wordless communication when they fell into their double act.

Remus walked to Gryffindor Tower in a daze, yawning once more as he climbed through the portrait hole and entered the common room.

"Well, I'm going to take a nap," said Sirius, stretching his arms over his head and giving James a meaningful look, who shook his head and crossed the common room to talk to Peter. "You look tired as well, Remus. Coming?"

Suspicious of a prank James and Sirius may have planned for him, Remus shook his head no. "I need to read through some of our History of Magic text first—I didn't take any notes at all today in class."

Sirius looked slightly put out, but Remus couldn't bring himself to feel guilty with having avoided some undoubtedly nefarious scheme. Stifling yet another yawn, Remus sat down in the common room and watched Sirius head up the stairs alone.

Thirty minutes later, when Remus was too exhausted and disoriented to make out the words in his book, he headed up to the dormitory to take a nap himself, trusting that Sirius would be asleep.

When he got to the doorway he stopped short, chest constricting as his awareness of the world narrowed to the still scene before him.

The western windows of Gryffindor Tower were flooding the room with an effervescent glow, the gold and scarlet dormitory heady with the lingering warmth of daylight. Sirius was sleeping in his bed, stretched languidly like a dog in the late-afternoon light, cheeks flushed from the heat of the sun.

In that unguarded moment an image of Remus' past surged forward, unbidden yet intensely felt in contrast to the quietude before him. Remus was transported to that fateful September when he had embarked upon his first journey to Hogwarts. Initially Remus hadn't known what to make of Sirius and James's antics, but he and the quiet boy called Peter were both drawn to their laughter, and soon the four were inextricably linked. Time passed and Remus was able to distinguish between Sirius and James, to ease Peter out of his hesitancy, to learn easy familiarity and experience small moments of intimacy that were born from his and Sirius' close friendship.

An aching hurt seized Remus. He hadn't known friendship that first day, hadn't known what it would mean to want to trust someone indelibly and without abandon, hadn't known that becoming best friends with those three carefree boys would inevitably amount to betrayal.

He wished all at once that he could have that innocence back, and that he had never had it at all. Darkly, Remus thought that perhaps Dark Creatures couldn't know innocence, couldn't know anything pure and untainted. He had only been naïve, ignorant of what lay before him.

It took Remus a long time before he moved to his own bed, taking off his shirt and closing the curtains. He shut himself in darkness, away from the impossibilities that lay on the other side of the dormitory.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Sirius awoke to a growling stomach and a dormitory shrouded in the odd half-light of dusk. Sirius saw Remus' shirt on the floor near his four poster bed and slowly rose to wake him in time for dinner.

Pushing his hair away from his face, Sirius pulled back the curtains to Remus' bed and gasped.

Remus was lying on his stomach, profile stark against his pillow, and scars livid against the pale skin of his back.

Sirius hardly dared to breathe. He could only gape at the long, angular gash of raised skin that stretched from Remus' left shoulder blade to the small of his back.

Shocked, Sirius looked more closely and made out other scars, smaller and paler than the angry stripe of red that dominated Remus' back.

The words from James's last note came flooding to the forefront of Sirius' mind:

_Pomfrey and McGonagall said that Remus has been in the infirmary, badly injured, and that he might not live to graduate from Hogwarts._

He and James had talked about it, in their own way, and both made the tacit agreement that they wouldn't assume anything—instead, they'd pursue the matter of Remus' disappearances with increased vigor.

Sirius couldn't believe he'd stumbled across such startling evidence of Remus' deteriorating health. He was sucking in unsteady breaths, willing himself to _stay calm, don't panic, close the curtains, walk away, slowly, don't wake him, find James…_

Sirius soundlessly slid the curtains shut, walked out of the dormitory, closed the door with a quiet _snick_, and in a burst of adrenaline sprinted off to find James.

----------

"Aaaah!" James yelled as Sirius hurtled towards him, a manic glint in his eyes.

"Aaaah!" Peter agreed, and took cover behind James as Sirius plowed into them, all three toppling like loud, awkwardly-shaped dominos.

"Groughnk!" Peter howled from underneath a pile flailing limbs.

"Get off, Sirius!" James yelled, rolling over in an effort to save Peter, whose muffled cries were growing increasingly desperate.

"James—James, you were right, oh god, I just—Remus, he's—and, oh god, I don't know what to do, James—James _help_!"

James pulled himself to his feet and stared down at the two incoherent bodies on the floor, one panic-stricken and the other very pink.

"Peter, you breathing all right?" asked James, worried that Peter's eyes were slightly crossed.

"I'm fine," Peter mumbled, shaking his head a little. He then looked up to goggle at Sirius, who had gone very still very suddenly. "What is _wrong_ with him, James?"

"Hmm," James said, glancing around the common room to make sure no one was paying attention to the rowdy group of second years. Luckily it was crowded enough that no one took any notice, too busy packing their things away and finishing card games in anticipation of dinner.

"Sirius," James began gently, leaning down to determine if he had suffered some kind of severe head trauma. "Sirius, mate, can you hear me?"

Sirius snapped out of his frenzy, grey eyes focusing on James's spectacles.

"James, it's Remus."

James, still very troubled over the conversation he'd overheard last night, held out his hand and pulled Sirius to his feet. Peter quickly sorted himself out and rose as well, looking from one to the other with frank curiosity. "What about Remus?" he asked.

"C'mon," James said, and signaled for them to follow him to an unused table in the common room, which had been quickly emptying as students departed to the Great Hall.

Once seated, James and Peter looked at Sirius expectantly. Sirius conveyed in hushed tones what he'd just seen, and James and Peter went silent with shock.

"Well, we know what kind of injuries he has, then," said James after a moment's pause following Sirius' description. "Not what caused them, mind, but it's a start."

"Wait, do you mean you knew he was hurt?" asked Peter.

James related the conversation he'd overheard the night before and Peter grew solemn, his gaze drifting to the hearth.

They were all silent for a few minutes until Sirius slammed his fist on the table, hard, dragging James back to the present.

"We're all missing something, and it's obvious, I can feel that the answer's right in front of me," Sirius said. "I've got to figure this out, I _have_ to find a way to help him!"

"If Madam Pomfrey can't heal him…" Peter began timidly, but stopped when he saw Sirius and James glaring at him.

"We just need to put the clues together," said James, logically. "It's just like in Arithmancy, all the numbers form an equation and the answer follows the pattern. We have to find the _pattern_."

"I—I suppose we could ask Pomfrey, or McGonagall," Peter suggested in a tiny voice.

"We can't," Sirius snapped, his nerves on edge. "James would get in trouble for eavesdropping, and they wouldn't tell us anything anyway."

"Oh. Right, then," said Peter, and leveled his gaze once more at the hearth.

"Well," said James, hesitating slightly, "I know this isn't right, strictly speaking, but as our friend's life seems to be at risk—" he looked away for a minute, then back at Sirius and Peter with the secretive air of one suggesting a morally ambiguous adventure, "We could nick his journal, and see if he's written anything down about it there."

"We can't," said Peter, not tearing his eyes away from the hearth.

"Since when have you been an authority on ethics?" asked Sirius angrily. "Look, normally I'd agree with you, but this is _Remus_, and if he won't tell us then how else can we save his—"

"No! I mean we can't, because he burned it." Sirius and James stared. Peter sighed. "The other morning I came down to the common room and Remus was here, and he burned his journal in that hearth," he said, pointing to the fireplace he'd been staring at.

"_Damn_!" snarled Sirius after a moment's pause. "If it wasn't for those _stinking Slytherins_ Remus wouldn't have destroyed it, and we could have found more clues!"

**To be continued…**


End file.
